


No Souvenirs

by TheFandomLesbian



Category: Mr. Mayor - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Arpaela, Developing Relationship, F/F, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-20 19:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFandomLesbian/pseuds/TheFandomLesbian
Summary: After getting wasted at a seedy bar on a Friday night, Mikaela Shaw sees another side to Arpi Meskimen, who generously picked her up and safely delivered her home. She finds herself growing closer to Arpi than she ever expected, but between work and the hurdles of age dividing them, she fears Arpi will never return her feelings. With twists of humor and fate, they are thrust together in an unlikely collision, where they may jointly save Los Angeles—and each other.
Relationships: Arpilene "Arpi" Meskimen/Mikaela Shaw
Comments: 4
Kudos: 1





	1. Rose-Colored Glasses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabexxpaulson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabexxpaulson/gifts).



> A ha, it is the SECOND fic in the Mr. Mayor fandom, and also the second one I have written. If you are reading this: Thank you for coming! Please feel free to leave a kudos or a comment, and I'll be posting little updates about this work on my Tumblr, @thefandomlesbian. I have also commissioned some artwork for this ship from my dear friend @rabexxpaulson, so if you'd like to see that, please see her Instagram, @mwf.art. She is very talented, and I'm grateful for her hard work in helping me build this fandom from the ground up!
> 
> Title from the Melissa Etheridge song, "No Souvenirs."

The sunlight streamed through the window of Mikaela’s bedroom, the curtains fluttering slightly as the air conditioner ruffled them with the moving air. Her head  _ throbbed. _ “Ugh…” She lifted her head from the pillow, both eyes squinting out at the yellow light.  _ Turn it off… Turn off the sun. _ Her stomach turned. She rolled over, reaching for the bottle of water on the nightstand. 

A post-it was stamped to the lid.  _ “Puke first. Medicine second.”  _ Mikaela frowned.  _ Someone was here? _ Her eyes darted to the other side of the bed—covers turned down. Her heart skipped a beat. Someone had slept in bed with her?  _ Did I bring someone home? _ She ripped the covers down. She was dressed, old sweatpants and a sweater… not the clothes she had worn to the bar last night. 

Swallowing hard, she cracked open the sealed water bottle and drank it, hoping the hydration would bring some thoughts back to her brain. It didn’t help.  _ Where was I last night? _ It was some seedy bar, not the kind of place she ever would have frequented regularly, that had drawn her based on a Google search that said the bar seats were some of the best in the city. The review had lied; Mikaela’s ass had hurt last night, and it still hurt today from those awful, uncushioned wooden stools.  _ I need to shower. That will help. I’ll feel like a person again if I shower. Then I’ll remember. _ Her last memory was a man’s hands on her ass, slapping him with the back of her hand, and staggering away with her phone out to call Tommy to come get her. 

It wasn’t Tommy’s handwriting on the post-it note.  _ But it  _ **_does_ ** _ look familiar. _ She felt like she had seen it before, but she couldn’t pinpoint where. 

She gathered up a change of clothes and tiptoed into her bathroom. The hamper was empty.  _ Did I do laundry?  _ She didn’t remember doing laundry, but yesterday, the hamper had definitely been half-full. It was just another mystery. She folded a towel and washcloth beside the shower and undressed, where, under the old clothes she had certainly not worn to the bar last night, she found last night’s lingerie. 

So she hadn’t been completely undressed. Only partially. Maybe she had done it herself.  _ I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk before in my life. _ She’d lost count after the eighth shot. Brains weren’t meant to hold that much tequila.

The shower water was frigid; no matter how much she turned it up, she couldn’t get hot water to come out of it.  _ I’ll have to call maintenance… on a Saturday. To hell with my life. _ Her hot water heater was a chronic problem with her apartment—if she dared to use her washing machine while she wanted to shower, she could think again, unless hypothermia sounded like fun (it rarely did). She scrubbed up as quickly as she could and, teeth chattering, donned fresh lounging clothes and dumped the old ones into the hamper. A flat iron rested on her sink.  _ Did I use a flat iron? _ She never straightened her hair, but there it was. 

Shoveling a hand through her wet hair, she towel-dried it as much as she could, and then she yawned her way up the hallway, her feet padding into the thick shag carpet. Through her open mouth, she scented food. 

Cooking food.

In her kitchen.

Her jaw snapped shut. The sound of the washing machine rocked through the apartment, the old  _ kerchuck kerchuck kerchuck _ that would explain why she hadn’t gotten any hot water in her shower and her nipples were still daggers pointing through her shirt. Then, grease, sizzling, as someone tossed something from a pan onto a plate, or maybe vice versa. 

She  _ had _ slept beside someone last night—or worse, slept  _ with _ someone, which seemed more and more likely. But who the hell would invite themselves to her washing machine and kitchen from a one-night stand?

On cat’s feet, she crept around the corner, peering into the kitchen, where the tiny figure had rolled up a pair of Mikaela’s pants several times and pinned them (they still dragged the ground) and pushed the sleeves of a sweatshirt two sizes too large for her up over her elbows (they continued to slide back down into the pans as she cooked). 

Mikaela’s jaw fell open. “Uh… Arpi?” 

So the handwriting on the post-it  _ was _ familiar. 

Arpi turned to her with a broad smile on her face. She was even shorter without shoes. “Morning, boss.” Arpi Meskimen was standing in her kitchen wearing her clothes. “Have fun last night?” 

“I…” Mikaela’s voice emerged a faint peep. “I’m… honestly, not quite sure…” Arpi Meskimen was standing in her kitchen wearing her clothes. Arpi Meskimen had slept in bed beside her last night—at  _ least _ had slept in bed beside her ( _ Oh, god, if I slept with her, I have to change my name and move to Mexico).  _ Arpi Meskimen had put a load of clothes in the wash, had straightened her hair in the bathroom, and had decided to cook breakfast. “Am I dreaming?” she finally asked. 

Arpi chuckled. “Truth is stranger than fiction.” Mikaela’s stomach sank. “What do you remember?” 

“Not nearly enough.” She watched as Arpi tossed an omelet into a plate. It was prettier and had more vegetables and extras than anything Mikaela ever would have made for herself in this kitchen—though, to be fair, she had only gotten this apartment since Neil hired her, and she hadn’t had much time since then to spend cooking meals in her kitchen. “I thought you were a vegan,” she blurted out.  _ Because  _ **_that’s_ ** _ the point I need to be elucidating with her right now. _

Looking equally surprised at Mikaela’s assertion, Arpi glanced back at her. “I am. But you are not, and eggs are a vital source of cysteine, which is important in producing glutathione, the antioxidant that helps you metabolize alcohol.” Mikaela blinked at her, uncertain which question to ask first, and taking her silence as misunderstanding, Arpi clarified, “Eggs help with hangovers.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that, how do you know—wait, that’s not the question I should be asking right now.” Arpi flipped the last pancake onto a stack and then turned off the stove, leaving everything where it was to cool.  _ Are you trying to poison me?  _ came to mind, but she bit her tongue on that one, too. “Um—” Arpi gestured for her to sit down, and Mikaela had never sat down in her kitchen before, but she did right now, at the table which had been dusted. “Can you tell me what happened last night?” she asked haltingly. 

Mikaela felt weirdly like she was being served in a restaurant as Arpi put the omelet in front of her with banana pancakes and honey drizzled on them to the side. She gulped. Maybe Arpi really was trying to poison her.  _ If we slept together, I’m the only evidence of her crime. _ She tried to push away that uncomfortable thought, thanking Arpi quietly, unable to shake how uncharacteristically kind this was of her. 

Arpi’s own plate had pancakes, no eggs. She looked so ridiculous floating around the kitchen in those oversized clothes. “I can’t tell you what happened at the bar.” 

“You weren’t there?” 

“Not until you called me to come get you.” 

Mikaela narrowed her eyes, staring at the grain of the wood on the table. “I thought I called Tommy… Oh, S is next to T.”  _ Scary McTinyBird _ was conveniently one slot above  _ Tommy Tummy _ in Mikaela’s phone. 

Arpi’s brow furrowed. “You said that last night, too. When I showed up instead of Tommy.” 

Coughing, Mikaela carefully dodged answering that particular question; she would  _ not _ go into this insulting Arpi, after Arpi (probably with ulterior motives) brought her home from a bar, cooked her a meal, and did her laundry for her. “But—can you tell me what you do know?”

“I can. I should warn you, though, you may be happier not knowing.” 

_ Oh, dear god. _ “I want to know.” 

“Well, then, if you’re sure.” 

_ The numbers on Mikaela’s phone were all blurry to her eyesight as she squinted at the screen in the darkness outside the bar. She made out the number two, but the digits after that, she couldn’t quite make out, so she had no way to know when fifteen minutes had passed—Tommy had said he’d be here in fifteen minutes, which was unusually fast for him, especially on a Friday night. His voice had sounded weird, too, in a way she couldn’t quite place. _

_ Under the streetlights, a bicycle whizzed past, the bright light refracting off of the cyclist’s blonde hair—she didn’t have a helmet. The bicycle dinged its bell as it approached, and Arpi coasted to a halt in front of Mikaela on the curb. _

“Oh, no—I tried to sit in the basket, didn’t I?” 

“Mhm.”

“I thought that was a weird dream…” In the dream, it hadn’t been Arpi riding the bicycle, but instead Nancy Pelosi, which made sense—that was the mean name Tommy called Arpi behind her back. He had a mean name like that for everyone.

“It gets weirder.” 

_ “Do you have your keys?” Arpi helped Mikaela down the stairs and off the curb, which was no easy feat, given the amount of stumbling Mikaela seemed to be doing. “Where’s your purse?”  _

_ Everything on Mikaela’s body felt fuzzy and warm. She was safe now; someone was here. “Arpi, there was this guy… He grabbed my butt…”  _

_ “Yes, I heard you on the phone, and tomorrow when you are sober, I will absolutely kick his ass on your behalf, but right now, I’m going to take you home.” Mikaela offered Arpi her purse, and Arpi thumbed through it, pulling out her keys. Mikaela tried to hop into the basket of the bicycle. “Mikaela—” It broke off. “What the hell are you doing?” _

_ She stared at the broken bicycle basket. “Tommy told me that’s how police officers on bikes transport criminals.” She tilted her head. “How else are we going to get home?” _

_ “I’m going to drive your car. That perfectly good automobile that you brought here will take us back to your apartment.” Arpi kicked the broken bicycle basket off to the side and chained the wheel to some of the safety railing outside the bar, pasting a note on the seat. “C’mon—” Mikaela trudged off in the direction of the wrong car. Arpi took her by the elbow and dragged her toward the correct one. “This way, silly goose.”  _

Mikaela awkwardly cleared her throat. “I think it goes without saying but I will replace your bicycle basket.” 

“If you think the bicycle basket is bad, you don’t want to hear the rest.” 

Mikaela buried her head in her hands. “No… Keep going.” 

_ “I am driving this car—Mikaela, so help me god, if you don’t sit down in the passenger seat and buckle yourself in, I will hogtie you and gag you and throw you in the trunk.” Mikaela laughed, but Arpi fixed her under a furious gaze, and she straightened her back and snapped the seatbelt, still leaning toward Arpi. “Thank you.” _

_ Mikaela giggled. Everything seemed very funny, especially with Arpi here, because Arpi was so serious, and the juxtaposition made her want to laugh even more. “Are you sure you’re gonna be able to see? ‘Cause it’s dark, and the bright lights, and your eyes are, like, eighty years old…”  _

_ “My eyes are quite young enough to see the road, as long as you sit still. Otherwise, I’ll drive us right onto the third rail.”  _

_ Bursting out laughing, Mikaela rolled her head back. “That just sounds like you’re gonna get us high on cocaine!” _

_ “Well, I have to do something to make you a bit tolerable…” Arpi cranked the car and backed out of the parking lot. _

“I’m sorry, I’m a mean drunk,” Mikaela apologized. 

“You don’t say,” Arpi deadpanned. Mikaela gave a meek little squeak and let her continue. 

_ The streetlights overhead subdued Mikaela. The way they rolled past, one at a time, made her dizzy and sick to her stomach. Her head lolled over onto the glove compartment of her car, trying to close her eyes to the bright lights. Arpi took one hand and covered her face to try to blot out the light for her. Her hand was warm. Mikaela nuzzled into it like a cat anxious for some pets.  _

_ “Arpi, you’re so nice… You’re like Nanny McPhee. Wait, you’re too old to know who Nanny McPhee is, I got it. You’re, like, Mary Poppins! Except, y’know, shorter, and older, and not as good of a singer, and not as pretty… and not Julie Andrews… but other than that—just like Mary Poppins.”  _

_ “Thank you,” Arpi grated.  _

_ “Wouldn’t it be cool if you were Julie Andrews? That would be really cool.”  _

_ “Yes, that would be very cool.”  _

_ “Have you ever met Julie Andrews?” _

_ “No, I haven’t.”  _

“I take it you’re a big Julie Andrews fan.” Mikaela wished she was dead. “You proceeded to go into a long tangent about the making of  _ The Sound of Music. _ And I may be hypocritical for saying this, but I don’t care about the making of  _ The Sound of Music, _ so you’ll forgive me if I skip that part.”

“Yeah,” Mikaela replied dimly. 

_ With her eyes closed and Arpi’s arm resting on her face, Mikaela dozed in and out of consciousness, her stomach swishing around inside of her. She was listening to Julie Andrews singing her a song in her head, but quickly the song was becoming less pleasant. “Arpi, I don’t feel so good.”  _

_ “Hold on, let me pull over—”  _

_ She retched, and Arpi started to push her upright, but not fast enough as the geyser of alcohol-stenched vomit poured over both of them. To her credit, Arpi didn’t say anything, merely pulled the car off the road, shook some of the chunks off of her shoes and pants into the ditch, and then wiped up Mikaela’s drooling face with some of the baby wipes she kept in her hiking bag.  _

_ She was quiet, and Mikaela was neither sober enough nor brave enough to do anything but mumble apologies over and over. With all the windows rolled down, Arpi drove to the front of Mikaela’s apartment building. She parked the car in the slot labelled for her apartment number and climbed out. “C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.”  _

_ Mikaela’s stomach was still whirling. “Nah, you ain’t gotta come in… You did so much…”  _

_ “My bike is at the bar. I don’t have another way home.”  _

_ “Oh, right, you’re too old for Uber…” Arpi let out a patient sigh as she helped Mikaela up the stairs. “Sorry… Do those comments offend you?”  _

_ “In your current state, you can’t say anything that will offend me.” Arpi unlocked the door to the apartment with Mikaela’s keys. “Just out of curiosity, because you’re very drunk right now and the answer will amuse me later. How old do you think I am?”  _

_ Mikaela froze. “No, nuh-uh, that’s a trick question…. I  _ **_know_ ** _ I’m gonna get it wrong…” Arpi arched an eyebrow. “Eighty...two.” Arpi chuckled. “Eighty-one? No! Wait! You’re younger than Neil. Thirty-five!”  _

_ In a deadpan, Arpi replied, “Well, the first two are closer to the truth than the last one.” She turned on the lights in the kitchen to illuminate the small apartment. “And how old do you think Neil is?”  _

_ “Neil is… definitely older than most of the aged wine I drank tonight.” _

_ “Is that what you were drinking?”  _

_ “Maybe.” Stumbling through the kitchen into the small living room, Mikaela half-dragged Arpi into her room. “I’m  _ tired. _ ” _

_ Arpi caught her by the back of her dress. “You are covered in your own vomit. You need to change clothes before you ruin your mattress and bedclothes.” Mikaela grumbled in a thick slur, intelligible words becoming more and more difficult to come by, but Arpi kept one hand on her to keep her from flopping onto her nice cover and clean sheets. Arpi forked up a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt to her and unzipped her dress from behind; it still took Mikaela a bunch of tossing, turning, and swearing under her breath to extricate herself from it. “Can I trust you to put yourself in bed if I change clothes?”  _

_ A small pout rose to Mikaela’s lips. “Will you come back and tell me a bedtime story?”  _

_ “I absolutely will not.”  _

_ Arpi stepped away to change clothes in the bathroom, the door closed behind her, and she came back out in a set of Mikaela’s oversized clothes, made for someone a full six inches taller than her. She dragged out the hamper and collected all of their old dirty clothes.  _

_ Drawling slowly, “Arr-pi,” Mikaela fluttered her eyelashes at her. “Where are you going?”  _

_ “I’m going to start a load of laundry and then crash on your couch. Do you have extra blankets?”  _

_ Another firm pout touched Mikaela’s expression. “Don’t sleep on the couch… Stay with me.” Arpi opened her mouth to object. “Seriously…” She yawned. “That couch will hurt your back so bad… Tommy slept on it once. He couldn’t walk the next day.”  _

_ “I really don’t think that’s appropriate.” _

_ “ _ **_Please,_ ** _ ” Mikaela pressed. “You were so nice to me tonight.” She patted the place on the bed beside her, and Arpi reluctantly sat on the bed beside her, staying on top of the covers. Mikaela put an arm around her waist, clutching at her chest.  _

_ Arpi swatted her hand away. “Hands to yourself.” Mikaela mumbled an apology and slid her hand downward, but she didn’t dislodge it, and Arpi didn’t fight her, pressing Mikaela’s palm over the soft swell of her tummy. Mikaela snuggled up beside her. “Are you always like this when you’re drunk?” _

_ “Mhm.” _

_ “Does Tommy let you do this to him?” _

_ “Never.”  _

_ With a patient sigh, Arpi let the sleeping dog lie—she didn’t want to start anything else in the middle of the night. “Goodnight.”  _

_ “No bedtime story?” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Will you tell me about palm trees?” _

_ “I hope one falls on you.” At Arpi’s sharp response, Mikaela made a disgruntled little sound, and she amended quietly, “In 1875, Los Angeles, population eight thousand, was a barren desert wasteland. So, to try to market the city, it became a capitalistic move to bring palm trees to the city to be planted from the Colorado Desert. Palm trees are useless environmentally in this area. They provide no shade or fruit or wood—see, the palm tree is not  _ **_technically_ ** _ a tree. The palm tree is a monocot, which means it’s a species of tall grass. So the trunk is not made out of wood. It’s useless for materials. All it does is generate a for-profit image to make it easier for rich people to sell poorer people arid land.” _

_ By the time Arpi had visited the history of Palm Sunday and the religious connotations associated with the palm tree due to its presence in the Middle East and accompanying Abrahamic undertones of the plant, Mikaela was fast asleep, still clutching Arpi around the middle like a favorite stuffie.  _

Mikaela did not remember spooning Arpi last night, but Arpi didn’t have any motivation to lie to her; it was an incredibly uncomfortable story for her to make up, and Mikaela knew from experience she tended to get handsy with people when she drank. It wasn’t the first time she had snuggled someone completely inappropriately… but it was the first time it had happened with someone like Arpi, who she suspected would be much less forgiving than Tommy was on the occasions that Mikaela dragged him into bed with her and made him fight to escape. 

She didn’t want to look at Arpi, who had been altogether too kind to her over the past ten hours. “I am so,  _ so _ sorry.” She also did not want to look at the food Arpi had cooked, or the laundry she had washed.  _ Oh, god, she could have my job for this. _ Arpi could fry Mikaela like one of these eggs and terminate her professional career for good. She had just begun to peep, “Will you—” before Arpi reassured her. 

“I’m not going to tell the mayor. Or anyone else, for that matter. Everyone makes mistakes… Sometimes a lot of sequential mistakes in one night.”

Relief passed over her briefly, followed by a deflation at the soft criticism—not the worst thing Arpi had ever said to her, not by a long shot, but somehow the most painful. Maybe because, this time, she knew that Arpi was right. She’d made a lot of mistakes, and she was lucky Arpi wasn’t going to come for her career. “You  _ really _ didn’t need to do all of this for me. I would’ve left me in a ditch.” 

Arpi arched an eyebrow at her. “You would leave a vulnerable, intoxicated young woman in a ditch after midnight on a Saturday morning in the middle of east side Los Angeles?” 

Mikaela hesitated.  _ Oh my god, she’s right. _ Forget her career—Arpi could’ve left her to die, to get raped and murdered,  _ anything _ , and she was sitting here at her own kitchen table eating breakfast because Arpi just felt like being a generous person for some reason. “Well, when you phrase it like that…” She found it hard to come by her words. “Thank you for not leaving me in a ditch.” Even Tommy would’ve had second thoughts about coming to get her if she had puked on him and then sleep-strangled him in her drunken haze. 

“No problem. I’m glad you’re safe.” Arpi got up and took her plate to the sink, washing the pans off. Mikaela wanted to tell her not to, it was her apartment, she would clean up the mess, but her tongue was tied. “Are you going to eat, or are you just going to stare at me all day like you’re going to wake up from this dream in a minute?” At that reprimand, Mikaela ate. The banana and honey pancakes had a weird texture—vegan, she assumed, since Arpi had eaten them—but were flaky and soft in her mouth. And Arpi was right; the eggs did help her head feel better. 

When her belly was full, the hangover was mitigated, and everything felt less distant, more real and understandable. She got up to wash her own dishes as Arpi put away everything she had dirtied, scrubbed, and dried. “How… How did you get to the bar so fast? Where was I?” 

“You weren’t far from my house. The bar you were at is on the east outskirts of Lincoln, off Indiana Street.” 

Mikaela frowned. “I thought you lived in Eagle Rock.” 

“I live in Lincoln Heights.” 

“Oh.” Mikaela wanted to ask  _ Why? _ but that seemed rude—Arpi’s choice in residence had been her saving grace last night. But surely Arpi made enough money to move out of Lincoln Heights to somewhere safer?  _ Maybe I should be the one worried about her. _

“You want to ask me uncomfortable questions about why I live in Lincoln Heights right now.” 

“Um… yes.” Mikaela allowed herself to postulate this. After all, Arpi wouldn’t have said so if she weren’t comfortable answering, Mikaela thought. 

Arpi raised her eyebrows and puffed a short laugh out her nose as she took the clean dishes away from Mikaela and dried it. “My house is paid off, I like my neighbors, and I find it easier to serve my constituents when I know what they’re facing in their day to day. Nothing can happen that I haven’t seen before.” 

There were a lot of things Mikaela hadn’t seen before. She hoped she wouldn’t ever have to see them. “You really don’t think so?” It seemed so foreign to her that Arpi wouldn’t be afraid of violence. 

“I once saw a man drown in the Los Angeles River while I was on a grocery run and tried to use my bread bags as a floatation device. Nothing can surprise me now.”

_ I’ve got follow-up questions about that, too. _ Arpi always said things that Mikaela wanted to question, now more than ever. But the washing machine buzzed, and as if on command, Arpi went to answer the sound. Mikaela trotted after her. “Wait, wait—you don’t have to do my laundry,  _ seriously, _ you’ve done enough.” Mikaela shuffled the damp clothes into the dryer, among them Arpi’s clothes.  _ She definitely can’t go anywhere until she has those. _ She didn’t look very comfortable swimming in Mikaela’s long-limbed pants and shirt. “I’ll take you to get your bike when you have clothes that actually fit.”  _ I have to go clean out my car. _ That didn’t sound like it would be very much fun. But it had to be done. Arpi had apparently sat in enough vomit last night. Mikaela wouldn’t force her to repeat the experience. 

“You mean you’re not going to make me walk home? Oh, bless your generous heart.” The sharp tone to Arpi’s voice made Mikaela’s face warm with embarrassment. Shame melted over Mikaela like candle wax. “Incidentally, I should remind you that next week is employee appreciation week, and it is the chief of staff’s responsibility to provide gifts to all of the city council members and employees. I presume in the middle of all of this, you might have forgotten.” Mikaela’s face froze in a tiny O. “Thought so.”

“Wait, wait, wait—how many people do I need to get gifts for? Sixty  _ thousand _ people work for the city—” Mikaela slammed the lid to the drier closed, but she had bigger concerns now than dirty clothes. 

“You’re responsible for the bullpen and the city council. The other respective directors will cover for their employees.”

“The bullpen—that’s, like, eighty people!” 

“Indeed. And I suggest you put a little more thought into it than Mayor Delgado’s chief of staff, who elected to give all of the men Hooters gift cards and all of the women Hooters applications and Victoria’s Secret coupons.” 

_ This day can’t get any worse. _ She’d humiliated herself in front of Arpi, forgotten about a huge responsibility, and now needed to cover those responsibilities while nursing a hangover. “I haven’t even gotten started on the Olympics review the mayor asked me to go over.” Finding gifts for everyone who worked in her area of the city would take hours. 

Arpi crossed her arms. “Maybe reconsider your next Friday night out on the town and allocate those hours to things that aren’t getting wasted in a sleazy pub.” Mikaela closed her eyes and cringed in shame. “However, you have caught me on a good day.  _ I  _ have nothing to do since I’ve missed my routine Saturday morning protest, so we can go gift-hunting and review the Olympics board together afterward.” 

_ Saturday morning protest? _ Mikaela wanted to ask that, too, but she held her tongue in favor of the more pressing question. “Arpi, I don’t mean this offensively, but… What do you want?” Arpi had done the right thing, the humane thing, in picking up Mikaela from the bar, but all of these extras were adding up to look like she wanted something. Cooking for her? Doing her laundry? Offering to help her catch up on work where she’d slacked off? Surely at some point, Arpi’s kindness turned into seeking something. She never wasted her time. 

“Must I want something?” 

Mikaela hesitated. “It would be uncharacteristic of you not to want something.” 

“I want some Saturday entertainment, and since I saved you from the seediest bar on this side of the river and have you at my mercy, I daresay I’m going to get what I want.” 

_ She’s right about that. _

…

Mikaela drowsed in the passenger seat of her car as Arpi boarded the freeway. The sun warmed the streets and basked in through the glass, and the windows were cracked, the radio humming a low classic rock station Mikaela didn’t remember it being on before. She’d come downstairs to clean her car only to find it spotless, to which Arpi gave a story about her father detailing cars when she was a kid, and Mikaela had to thank her again, which was getting to be downright annoying. 

She didn’t like owing Arpi this much. But as far as she could tell, Arpi wasn’t lording it over her yet. 

Early lunchtime traffic had things at a standstill. Arpi took an exit and some side roads down blocks Mikaela wasn’t familiar with; she didn’t often leave Fairfax except to go to work, but Arpi seemed to know where she was going. Somehow, Mikaela trusted her not to get too incredibly lost in the maze formed by Los Angeles neighborhoods. Perhaps Mikaela was naive, but Arpi was confident, so she didn’t question it as Arpi parked on a side street in front of a line of small local shops in the form of a strip mall. 

Unsurprisingly, Arpi had a binder for the city staff in her hiking bag, and she flipped through it. “We can stop in All Creatures Small. Linda’s in the market for a new hamster tank, Joy likes costumes for her dog, Jason has a thing for new cat toys, and sugar glider paraphernalia will work for Leslie.” Arpi scribbled into her binder and glanced up at Mikaela in passing. “Don’t mention to Leslie that I was involved in this. He hates me.” 

She got out of the car without elaborating. Mikaela climbed after her. “Why does he hate you?” 

“Mayor Delgado attempted to host a  _ bring your pet to work _ day in which my cat ate his oldest sugar glider.” Mikaela laughed. “I apologized and replaced the sugar glider, but he still thinks I’m out to get him.”

“But you are out to get him. You regularly fight all of his contributions and roll over his financial statements.”

“I do that because he’s a bad accountant. Not because I hate his sugar gliders. C’mon, we’re wasting time.” 

All Creatures Small was a tiny, clean pet store with novelty items. It wasn’t a place Mikaela ever would’ve taken herself—in no small part because she had no pets and had no intention of getting a pet—but the art on the walls was hand-painted and beautiful, and she marveled at the strange colorful fish as she passed by them. Arpi picked out things one by one and labelled the bags as they were checked, each bag marked with whose gift was inside it. Mikaela trailed after her with a long, sleepy yawn. 

The cashier winked at her. “Busy night?” 

“Mhm,” she said vaguely. He grinned until Arpi pointedly shifted her backpack so the mace in the back pocket showed toward him. Without another word, Mikaela followed Arpi out of the store. “Do you always do that?” 

“Sure do. It’s a show of force. It usually works.” Arpi split the bags between them, and Mikaela tried not to stumble at the extra weight on her wrists. 

To keep herself awake, she cleared her throat. “Have you ever used it? On purpose, not… what happened at Susan’s seminar.” 

“Couple of times.” Arpi’s voice was a smooth purr, but she didn’t elaborate. Mikaela wanted to ask, but Arpi led the way into the next tiny, homegrown novelty shop, and Mikaela followed her, half-listening to her prattle on about the sweaty man who worked at the next desk over from Tommy in the bullpen and how he liked homemade earrings to go along with his dress modeling business after work, half-marveling at how she had ended up here in the first place. 


	2. Reluctant Passenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A-ha, it is the SECOND CHAPTER of the second ever Mr. Mayor fic on AO3. This story currently has seven hits! To all seven of you: Thank you for reading! Glad I'm not in this alone.

Dozing off in the passenger seat of her car, Mikaela roused when she heard a door slam, and she shifted her head from the side of the headrest to peek out the window. The car was stopped at a gas station Mikaela had never seen before in an unfamiliar desert area. “Arpi…?” She turned to ask her where they were, but the car was parked at a gas pump, and Arpi was nowhere in sight. Mikaela yawned and rubbed her eyes.  _ I’m so thirsty. _ Her head was hurting again, and she’d emptied her bottle of water, having nothing to swallow the Tylenol in her purse. 

She glanced in the backseat where the gifts had piled up.  _ She made some stops while I was out. _ Mikaela didn’t remember falling asleep. Her tummy rumbled. She stretched her arms out, and the coat strewn over her fell off into the floor of the car. “Oh.” Someone—Arpi, she presumed—had covered her over. A tender thing to do, though the weather was temperate and she wasn’t likely to get cold.  _ Not like Arpi. _ What if Arpi had been murdered and some kind carjacker was riding around with her? That seemed more likely than Arpi caring enough to spread a coat over her to keep her warm while she slept.

But then again, this day had been nothing but surprises in terms of Arpi’s behavior. Maybe aliens were real and they had kidnapped the real Arpi and this one was an impostor. 

The door popped open, and she lifted her head at the sound. Arpi had a smoothie in each hand and held one out to Mikaela. “About time you woke up.” 

Mikaela accepted the smoothie. It was dark green, but it smelled good. “Thanks.” She yawned and took a sip of it.  _ It’s good. _ “Where are we?” 

“We’re almost to Riverside.” Arpi buckled herself up in the seat again. 

Mikaela’s brow furrowed. “Why are we going to Riverside?” 

“Empanada Acoso is in Riverside, and that’s where we’re getting Jayden’s gift.” 

“We could’ve ordered a gift card online.” 

“But then I wouldn’t know what these empanadas are all about. Lord knows Jayden never shuts the hell up about them. There’s also a novelty bookstore holding a copy of  _ The Color Purple  _ and  _ The Bluest Eye _ , signed by Alice Walker and Toni Morrison respectively, and I intend to get to them before they’re back on the shelf and they get snatched up by somebody who won’t appreciate their value.” 

Mikaela pushed herself up in her seat. “But  _ I  _ didn’t have to come.”

“Sure you did. Bussing from LA to Riverside would take all day, cabbing would cost a small fortune, and as long as you’re with me, you can’t report your car stolen.”  _ So the real Arpi is still in there somewhere. _ No impostor could be quite that conniving in the way of Arpi Meskimen. She didn’t waste her time, and if she wanted empanadas, by God, she would get empanadas with Mikaela as her reluctant passenger. “Drink up. Everything in that is good for you.” 

Stirring the smoothie absently, Mikaela took another sip. “Can I ask what’s in it?”

Turning back out onto the street, Arpi nursed her own fruit smoothie. Hers was a slightly different color. “Avocado, kale, pineapple, ginger, green tea, oranges, blueberries, honey, and bananas.” Mikaela’s eyes widened. “I thought it sounded disgusting, but the cashier promised everything is good with pineapple in it.”

“They were right. It is good.” 

“Good. That should stop your hangover in its tracks.” 

“It will?” Mikaela didn’t know why she prompted her to continue speaking. Maybe it was because Arpi liked to talk a lot, and it didn’t seem like anyone often asked her to go on her long rambles. She’d been very kind to Mikaela in all of this, so Mikaela invited her to give a lecture. With the cold smoothie on her tongue, she thought she’d be able to keep herself from falling asleep. 

Arpi shot her a sideways look, almost confused, second-guessing that Mikaela had asked her to elaborate on something like that in the middle of the afternoon—when she had nothing to gain from falling asleep. But when Mikaela didn’t withdraw her request, Arpi expanded on her previous statement. “Avocados protect against liver injury and provide a good source of potassium, which is vital for heart function. Kale supplements vitamins A, K, B6, and C, as well as several important minerals. K is important for blood clots; A supports organ function and healthy vision; C helps in wound healing and immune system function, among other structural things.”

“Nothing on B6?” 

“If you’re trying to get me to put you to sleep, it’s not going to work.” 

_ Okay, that’s a fair hit. _ Mikaela shifted in her seat, fumbling with the coat, which was soft and warm; in spite of the sun filtering through the windows, she didn’t want to give it up. It smelled nice, not necessarily perfumed, but floral in a wild sense, like it spent too much time outside in the wild air. “I wasn’t,” she promised. Arpi didn’t look convinced. “Why do you know so much about nutrition?” 

“I’ve been partnering with food safety and zoning boards to remedy food deserts in some LA neighborhoods. Prioritizing the types of foods we should subsidize for corner stores to purchase is step one.”

Mikaela frowned, fidgeting with the sleeve of the coat in her lap. “I didn’t know you were doing that.” Now she was intrigued—strange, her being intrigued by Arpi, but she was. “What are the highest priority foods?” 

“Shelf-stable proteins at an affordable rate. Nut butters and canned meats.” Mikaela’s lip curled in disgust at the idea of anyone eating canned meat, but Arpi continued without expressing any revulsion. “Adding eggs to refrigerated sections has also been a hit. Trying to twist corner store owners into providing fresh foods is harder. They don’t have anywhere to store them, and they don’t like the idea of having so much food waste. Frozen vegetables have been a stepping stone, but there’s still a lot of hurdles to cross.” 

Tilting her head thoughtfully, Mikaela puzzled it out. “But subsidizing corner store purchases is just patching the problem.” 

“Sure, but real solutions aren’t going to happen overnight. We are trying to find locations and funding to reopen grocery stores, but until that happens, people still need nutritious food.” 

“I thought you were always telling Neil to stop patching problems.”

“I’m always telling Neil things to get under his skin and keep him on his toes. A man like Neil Bremer is always going to want to fight a woman like me. If I give him enough big arguments, he lets the smaller things slide. The things I really want.” Mikaela’s mouth hung slightly agape at the admission; she was surprised first that it was true and then surprised second that Arpi told her about it. Arpi didn’t often betray her secrets. To offer such a deep one so unsolicited—Mikaela found it odd. “Were you under the impression I really wanted to chuck a bunch of palm tree pieces into the stadium?”

Lips buffering, Mikaela tried to find an answer that wasn’t wholly offensive. “I mean… I think it’s pretty on brand for you, all things considered?” Arpi wanted to topple Bob’s Big Boy and exile everyone from Los Angeles who violated the water orders during the drought. Her statement of handing out axes to the homeless and putting the palm tree waste in the stadium to render it useless seemed no stranger than a lot of the other bizarre things she said in her career. 

Arpi tilted her head. “Touche.” 

Mikaela was curious now. “What else is a big exaggeration to get something smaller from the mayor?”

“You’re just asking me so you can tell him.”

“No, I’m not,” she insisted. “You’re not telling him that I got drunk and violently spooned you by force. I can keep a secret. What’s the next biggest secret? Is it Bob’s Big Boy? Do you not care about that?”

Arpi shuddered. “Wrong—I hate that thing. I want it out of my city. It’s hideous and unnecessarily phallic.” 

Arching an eyebrow, Mikaela repeated, “Unnecessarily  _ phallic? _ ” wondering if she had misheard, but Arpi nodded firmly without a sliver of hesitance. “No way.” She took her phone out of her purse and opened the screen to Google it.

“Don’t do it. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.”

“I’m not going to  _ see _ anything. There’s no way that Bob’s Big Boy is… Oh my god, it is.” Curling her lip, Mikaela held her phone screen at arm’s length, but she was unable to shake the image of the statue and all of its bulging proportions. “So gross.”

“So you’ll support my plan to subsidize its removal and replacement with a lesser known role model? One that will not whitewash the labor movement and give onlookers sexual nightmares?” 

“Nice try.”  _ Sexual nightmares sound real, though. _ Mikaela had no doubt the picture of Bob’s Big Boy she had in her head now would pursue her into her sleeping realm. “But I may be able to get some more help on board for your food desert initiative.” She had had no idea Arpi was working on such a thing, but with the right presentation, it could go in front of the mayor and earn citywide subsidies; they had the potential to make real progress with the knowledge Arpi had accrued. 

A short chuckle breathed out of her. “Look at you, being all helpful. I should save you from your night life more often.” Warmth flushed over Mikaela’s face again at the reminder that now, she owed Arpi something—a lot of somethings, really, more somethings than she wanted to consider. “I may take you up on that, boss.” 

_ Boss. _ Mikaela wondered if she meant it derisively. She certainly had on that first day, when they had each thought they were tricking the other but only Arpi turned out to be right. But she didn’t have the venom in her voice now like she had in those early days, and her eyes crinkled around the corners when she smiled, and in certain lights, she looked almost fond of the mayoral staff in some ways. _ Almost. _ Not quite. 

Arpi drove to the entrance of a storefront labelled  _ Empanada Acoso, _ and with a yawn, Mikaela unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out of the car. The outdoor seating was sunlit and warm, and when they came back out under the sun, they sat across from each other at the corner along the sidewalk. The garnishing flowers beside the shrubs showed no signs of palm trees, and naturally, Arpi remarked upon it. “Native flora—no monocots to be seen!  _ Abronia maritima, Bloomeria crocea, Calandrinia ciliata. _ Riverside is doing it right.” She clicked her tongue as she cut her vegan black bean empanada into two pieces. Steam rose up out of the halves. 

Mikaela cut hers into two pieces, as well, the chicken peeling apart with ease. She wasn’t an empanada person, but Jayden swore they were delicious, and she was in no position to be arguing with Arpi about where they ate. “What’s that one called?” she asked, pointing to a pretty orange flower. 

A frown touched Arpi’s lips. “ _ Eschscholzia californica. _ The California poppy.” 

“What about that one?” She pointed to some purple bell-shaped flowers. 

“ _ Lepechinia fragrans. _ Fragrant pitcher sage.” Mikaela started to point to another flower. “I’m not your encyclopedia. What’s the matter with you? Usually you would pay me to shut up.”

Mikaela sheepishly blinked. “It’s interesting that you know all their names. Do you have a photographic memory?” 

“Eidetic.” 

“Right, right, brains aren’t photographic…” Mikaela had heard that lecture from Tommy many times when she asked for his help on tests (or, once, tried to cheat her way into MENSA). It never seemed to stick, mostly because she didn’t give a damn about the difference between those two words when they more or less had the exact same meaning. “So what made you learn about flowers?”

“My neighbor and I started gardening.” 

Simple answer. “Do you have a green thumb?” Mikaela asked, hoping to invite her to speak some more, but Arpi looked suspicious of her. “Look, if you want to talk about something else, feel free. I’m still technically being held against my will.” 

“Oh, are you going to prosecute me for kidnapping you?” 

Mikaela arched an eyebrow in return. “I _ could _ .” 

“I’d like to see how that would hold up in court.” She picked up half of her empanada as the steam finished curling out of it. “Be my guest. I’d love to see you explain to a jury how mean to you I’ve been all day.” 

_ She has a point. _ “Maybe I’ll hold off on that lawsuit after all.” Mikaela picked up half of her empanada, as well. “You know, you  _ really _ didn’t have to do all of this. This was a lot of work just to go get some very good empanadas.” 

“Because if I had turned up to your apartment on a Saturday morning and told you we were going to drive fifty miles to try some empanadas, you would’ve smiled and gotten into the car without a second thought? Please.” 

“I would’ve caved to much less extortion than all of this.”

“I know. You’re nearly spineless.” Mikaela opened her mouth to object, but Arpi pressed on. “But I happen to know a particular secret about you and a certain lie you’re telling Tommy and Jayden, and since yesterday was supposed to be a special day for you that you clearly wasted going to the seediest bar on the east side of the LA river, I have no choice but to remedy that today.” She held up her empanada. “Happy thirty-second, boss.” 

Mikaela choked. A string of chicken fell out of her mouth onto her plate, and Arpi narrowed her eyes at it, though she didn’t remark upon the disgracefulness of it. “What—How—” Mikaela looked around, as if to see if anyone around them could identify her or overhear this conversation—a stupid fear to have, perhaps, but still one plaguing her. “What do you know and how do you know it?” 

Arpi raised an eyebrow at her. “I am no stranger to date of birth fabrication, particularly in city records. I had city councilmen believing I was seventeen until I was twenty-seven. Kept some of them from being so perverted if they thought I was younger than their daughters.” She put her empanada back on her plate. “Though I do have my questions as to _ your _ motives.” 

Warmth flushed over Mikaela’s face at the confrontational assertion. There was no way for her to avoid it. She picked at her fingernails. Two of them had chipped last night in the commotion (she had no way of knowing when, but she had a suspicion at least one of them had broken when she tried and failed to climb into Arpi’s bicycle basket), and she couldn’t keep herself from picking at the jagged edges.  _ None of your business _ was not an answer that would work for Arpi. “I didn’t do it for the city. I’m just trying to keep up with a lie I told a long time ago.” 

“Is that so?”  _ She isn’t going to let it lie. _ Mikaela didn’t know why she expected Arpi to leave her alone right now; it wasn’t in Arpi’s nature to ever let someone skate by without dishing out the full truth. “Maybe we could talk about something that isn’t the flora at Riverside, if you wanted to tell.”

“Will you take no for an answer?”

“Of course, but you’ll always know that I know this thing you don’t want me to know but I don’t know why, and it will eat you alive inside that I don’t have the full explanation when I’m the only person who knows about this secret.”

Biting back a huff, Mikaela tried to keep from admitting Arpi’s correctness, but she couldn’t deny it. “Look, it’s embarrassing, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the city.”

“Oh, naturally, you haven’t embarrassed yourself in front of me at all lately.” Mikaela resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands. Arpi pointed at a cactus protruding from the sidewalk beside them. “That’s a  _ bergerocactus emoryi. _ I fell off of my bicycle onto one when I was eight. X-rays say there is still one cactus spine that lives between my shoulder blades. It could work its way out one day. It also could paralyze me, so there’s that—”

“I had a crush on Tommy when I met him before I knew he was gay, so I lied to him and told him I was a genius, too, to make it seem like I was closer to his age, and that was eight years ago and he still hasn’t figured it out so  _ please _ don’t tell him.” 

Arpi arched an eyebrow. “That is a lot of effort to impress a man who literally cannot experience attraction to you.” She was almost done with her empanada. “What exactly does Tommy think you were doing last night, then?”

“Oh, he thinks I’ve got a totally different date of birth—I thought it would look better if I was a Scorpio, because he’s a Pisces.” At the way Arpi narrowed her eyes in judgment, Mikaela gulped. “I was young and stupid and I had no gaydar, okay? And he doesn’t know about any of it, and at this point, I’m in too deep, so I have let him think I’m turning twenty-seven in five months.” 

Chuckling, Arpi shook her head. “Well, you’re right about one thing. You’re definitely in too deep.” Mikaela cringed. “You can’t tell him now without uprooting your entire friendship because it’s founded on secrecy and dishonesty. The whole tower of mutual respect and sacrifice will come crumbling if he ever finds out you only became his friend because of your intention to woo him. It will destroy the way he thinks of you forever.”

“Okay, you’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry, did you think I was trying to?” 

_ Unsurprising. _ Arpi wasn’t known for being the most helpful woman to ever exist, at least in terms of advice. “I guess I had high hopes, since you’ve been unusually helpful today.” 

“I suppose I have been. But you’re on your own for the birthday thing.” 

Two familiar figures passed by the table on the sidewalk, the shorter one trying to avoid their gaze while the taller took her by the arm and approached Arpi and Mikaela where they ate. “Well, if it isn’t Karen McMace.” Mikaela didn’t recognize the taller woman, except she shared a striking resemblance to Neil, enough that Mikaela's mouth hung open as she gaped up at the stranger. The shorter woman, though, Susan, Mikaela remembered her. “Is this your McMace in training?”

Arpi folded a napkin in front of herself. “You know, Nell, there are certain factions of feminism now wherein the ‘Karen’ meme has come into hot debate because of the alleged misogyny behind it as it seeks to silence assertive women who have finally learned to stand up for themselves after centuries of systematic, intergenerational oppression.”

Nell and Susan both sat at the bench with them; Mikaela scooted around closer to Arpi to make room as she and Nell both laughed at Arpi’s flat statement. _ Was there a joke in there somewhere? _ At some point, when Arpi used enough big words, Mikaela stopped listening and started to go to sleep. Arpi continued, “This is the mayor’s Chief of Staff, Mikaela Shaw. Mikaela, you know Susan, and this is her wife, Nell. Nell runs a subsidiary branch of the zoning boards through city hall. She’s been helping with one on one outreach in convenience stores in districts fourteen, nine, and one.”

Mikaela frowned. “Are we sure getting the people in district fourteen to eat bananas is where we want to start? Skid Row needs a lot of help, but I don’t think they’re going to get it just from us putting cartons of eggs in the closest 7-Eleven.”

Arpi shrugged. “Have to start somewhere, boss. Any real ideas to clean up Skid Row humanely will end with us presenting it to the mayor.”

Sucking her teeth, Mikaela agreed with a nod and fell silent. Arpi was right. Neil was from too much money to ever want to prioritize cleaning up Skid Row in a safe way. Nell offered to shake her hand, and Mikaela took it reluctantly, remembering a time not so long ago when handshakes weren’t something they were allowed to do so readily. “Pleasure to meet you,” Nell greeted, and Mikaela quietly returned the sentiment. 

Susan smiled, and to Mikaela’s surprise, she didn’t look  _ too  _ resentful. “Nice to see you again, Mikaela. Surprised that you’re  _ here _ , though.”

_ What does that mean? _ “Me, too!” Mikaela chirped, and they all laughed. 

Susan folded her hands out on the table. “Anyway, Arpi, we’ve been calling you—your line is down.” 

“Yeah, my nephew was trying to fix an answering machine that’s as old as he is, and he did something to the telephone wiring in my house. What’s up?” 

“We got two extra tickets to Melissa Etheridge next week.” Nell adjusted her glasses and grinned. “We were wondering if you’d like to tag along again.”

Arpi gave a derisive snort of laughter. “You mean you want me to be your designated driver so the two of you can neck in the backseat like teenagers. Just like you did at the Willie Nelson concert.  _ And  _ the Eagles concert. No, thanks, guys. I’ve been to enough Melissa concerts to last a lifetime.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Susan bargained. “Shonna and Shana are out—they moved back to San Diego. La Jolla, can you believe it?”

“I told you their newfound wealth would addle their lives into empty, materialistic nothingness. Shonna’s ex-husband shouldn’t have left that whole policy to her. How far do they think thirty million dollars will go in La Jolla? They’ll be broke in five years.” 

“Yeah, I know—anyway. They can’t come, Teresa just got a new cat that’s sick all the time, and you got really good pictures when you brought Telvin and sat on his shoulders for the Eagles.”

_ What the hell are they talking about? _ Mikaela tried to mask her face as the confusion boiled inside of her; clearly, Arpi had gotten to know Susan and Nell a lot better over the past few months. Why would Susan want anything to do with Arpi? Mikaela hardly wanted anything to do with Arpi, and she’d never gotten maced in the face from a rusted, expired self-defense weapon. Mikaela didn’t recognize any of the names they were all tossing about, either. 

“I did get great pictures,” Arpi reminisced. “But, c’mon, it’s a Melissa concert. I can’t invite Telvin. Bringing a man to a Melissa concert is the eighth deadly sin.” 

“Then bring Tawny,” Susan said. “Not Lisa, Lisa’s a drag.”

“I can’t, they’re both divorcing Telvin.”

“Divorcing?” Nell arched an eyebrow incredulously. “Didn’t they just get married eight months ago?” 

Arpi raised her eyebrows so they were hidden by her bangs. “Don’t you dare start to lecture me about the sanctity of marriage and how kids these days are ruining it by having the means to end unhealthy relationships instead of muddling through in misery like our foremothers.” Nell fell silent at Arpi’s prattling instruction, giving Susan a sideways glance. 

Clearing her throat, Susan lifted her gaze to Mikaela. “I don’t suppose you’d want to tag along? It’s a free seat, and Melissa always puts on a good show.”

_ I don’t even know who that is. _ Mikaela thought she’d heard the name of the musician before… maybe. Maybe not. Did she want to come? Not really. But she hadn’t gone to a concert at all since the Fyre Festival, and she didn’t think she’d have any other obligations for an upcoming weekend. These days, she didn’t seem to ever have much to do when she got home from work. “Sure, I guess, I can ride along. What day is it?” 

Arpi and Susan exchanged looks of surprise, but Nell passed her a slip of paper with the date and time of the concert, telling her to meet at Arpi’s house so Arpi could drive them up to Santa Barbara (Mikaela wanted to ask why they were seeing a concert two hours away when they lived in  _ Los Angeles, _ she had never traveled more than twenty minutes in any direction to see anybody before in her life). Nell checked her watch. “Oh, boy, Susan, we gotta go. We’re going to be late to our reservations.” She stood from the bench of the circular table and gave a half-wave to Arpi and Mikaela. “Nice to see you guys.” Susan bid them a similar farewell, and the two walked away.

Once they were out of earshot, Arpi turned her head to stare at Mikaela. “In what world do you care about seeing a Melissa Etheridge concert?”

She fidgeted. “I don’t.”

“Then why did you say yes?” 

Shrugging, she tugged a curl of hair around her finger. “I guess because I haven’t been to a concert in more than two years, and I don’t exactly have anyone to invite. Like you, apparently,” she tacked on before Arpi could say anything too snide—after all, it wasn’t like Arpi was teaming with ideas of who else could attend their concert. 

The remark rolled off of Arpi. “I’m in agreement with that statement. My concert company is usually whoever wants a designated driver badly enough to buy me a ticket.” She stood, wrapping up her trash from her meal. “We need to get going, too. The Lit Lot closes at five.” Mikaela followed Arpi back to the car where she took her phone out of her purse. 

She had missed a text from Tommy. 

Tommy:  _ Thought you went out last night. Didn’t get a call. Get home safe? If you hooked up, I want flex pics.  _ 🥵

Shaking her head, Mikaela blew a short breath of laughter out her nose. Arpi glanced at her as she cranked up the car. “Something funny going on in viral land?” she asked. The car had gotten hot in the sunlight, and she kicked on the air conditioner. 

“Tommy is thirsty. He thinks I took a guy home last night.” 

Arpi raised her eyebrows. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.” 

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at Arpi’s insistence, Mikaela stifled the little winge of fear inside of her that Arpi would tell or that somehow, some other way, Tommy would find out about her dishonesty, and their friendship would be ruined.  _ Arpi wouldn’t tell him. _ Arpi said herself she prioritized loyalty most over all other things—she wouldn’t go behind Mikaela’s back just to hurt her without reason. 

Mikaela:  _ No hook up. Who’s Melissa Etheridge? _

Tommy:  _ Weird change of subject. Old lesbian singer. Who wants to know? _

Mikaela:  _ Me. I guess I’m going to a concert. I got a ticket. _

It was too much information; Tommy wouldn’t be sated, and before Mikaela had the chance to sort through the very brief description he’d sent her of the musician she’d be seeing, he phoned her.  _ Oh, dear god. _ Mikaela stifled the complaint on the tip of her tongue and answered the phone. “Hey, I can’t talk now, I’m actually busy doing… something.”  _ Riding about in Riverside with Arpi Meskimen on a Saturday afternoon _ would broach too many questions. 

Tommy, however, did not take her answer. “Doing some _ thing _ , or doing some _ one? _ ” 

Arpi laughed at the sound of his voice coming through the speaker. “The things she’s doing are with me, Mr. Tomás, so I suggest you rid your mind of any fantasies currently plaguing you.” 

“ _ Arpi? _ ” Tommy asked. Incredulity plastered his voice. “Where are you? What are you doing? Mikaela, what is going on?”

“We’re in Riverside,” Mikaela hedged, trying to dodge the last question. 

Arpi, however, did not try to dodge the last question. “I rescued her from her drunken oblivion outside the Rainbow Pony in the wee hours of the morning. Now she’s paying her debt to me by getting dragged around Greater Los Angeles in preparation for upcoming employee appreciation week. I think you’ll quite like what we picked out for you.”  _ What did we pick out for him? _ Mikaela didn’t remember buying anything for Tommy. Arpi must’ve done that while she was asleep. Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach at the thought. 

“Wait, you were at the Rainbow Pony?”

“Tommy, I don’t remember where I was—I tried to sit in a bicycle basket.” He started to ask her another question, but she cut him off. “We have to go, we’ve got another gift to pick up. Bye!” She ended the call quickly.

“How embarrassing was that for you on a scale of one to ten?”

“Eleven.” Mikaela glanced sideways at Arpi. “You didn’t make it any easier.”

She tilted her head and shrugged. “I seldom make anything easier for anyone.” 

The sunlight sifted through the windows, casting Arpi’s reddish hair in a strange light as the afternoon grew later, nearer to evening. Mikaela realized she had spent a whole day with Arpi, and it hadn’t been…  _ all that bad, _ which knowing Arpi, was a surprise. “You know, I don’t think that’s true.” Mikaela picked up the clipboard with the papers attached which listed all of the residents of city hall she was supposed to buy gifts for. “You helped me a  _ lot _ more than you were obligated to, from a social standpoint, last night and today. You spent your whole day today trying to make sure the other people at city hall get decent gifts—you drove us an hour out of our way just to get a giftcard for Jayden to his favorite restaurant. And you’re willing to drive your friends all the way up to Santa Barbara just so they can get wasted at a concert you’ve seen before.” 

A thoughtful frown came to Arpi’s lips. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” Mikaela resisted the urge to smile somewhat smugly—she hadn’t earned that right yet. “You’re wrong about one thing, though.”

“What’s that?” 

“I probably would blow Susan and Nell off, but, y’know, there’s this unwritten social contract that when you accidentally pepper spray someone, you have to kiss their ass for a long time afterward. I’ve been driving them around southern California so they can get safely hammered at concerts. I don’t know when they’ll think my debt is repaid.”

“It seemed to me like they think you’re their friend,” Mikaela provided gently. “And… well, you’re not a bad friend to have.” Arpi arched an eyebrow, as if waiting for the second part of a backhanded compliment, but Mikaela didn’t have anything negative to say about her, not at this moment. “But—okay, Nell  _ really _ looks like Neil, doesn’t she? That’s not just in my head.”

Chuckling, Arpi shook her head. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

Mikaela held up her hand. “I don’t want to know anymore than what I already know.” She reviewed the papers. Every name was checked off with the corresponding gift written beside it so Mikaela wouldn’t get them confused. “Your name is checked off, but I don’t think we got you anything.”

“I have been protesting outside of various Chick-Fil-A restaurants across LA since 2011. The last time I missed my Saturday morning protest was six months ago. This  _ is _ my gift.” 

“ _ You’re _ the crazy Chick-Fil-A protest lady?” 

“I oppose the use of the word  _ crazy _ when it could be replaced with  _ passionate, _ but yes. I’m the only one left. The rest of them died out. Protest is a mission only for the strong.” Mikaela’s expression was dubious. “Now they mostly think I’m a psychotic illiterate homeless woman who holds up random signs. The employees feel bad for me sometimes and bring me food. Those fries are good.” 

Mikaela couldn’t help herself. She chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you got to spend a day away from the Chick-Fil-A storefront. And that we got Jayden a gift card.”

“Jayden can’t know about my involvement in getting him the gift card.” 

“Why not?” 

The sunlight upon Arpi’s face highlighted the laugh lines in her face as she gave a skeptical smile. “He had my contact name in his phone as  _ Work Mom, _ and I told him he’s grounded from Empanada Acoso until he changes it.” In spite of everything, Mikaela laughed, and it wasn’t tainted by any semblance of malice or charged with the negative energy of the workplace. It was natural and whole. 

…

Arpi reentered the parking lot of the seedy bar with chipped, faded paint that once had borne a rainbow unicorn dancing; now, it was gray, barely discernible. Mikaela drank in the scene, but she didn’t really recall being here last night at all—not in this parking lot, filled with broken glass with a building that desperately needed repainted. “This is where I was last night?” she asked Arpi, almost disbelieving. 

“Sure enough, boss.” And there was Arpi’s bicycle chained to the front step of the bar. She parked in the lot. “I was pretty surprised to find you here.” 

“I’m surprised Tommy even knew about this place. It doesn’t look like the type of bar he’d ever go to.” Arpi made a face at her. “What?”

“The Rainbow Pony is a  _ gay _ bar. The oldest one in the city, in fact. How and why you ended up here is none of my business, but I’m sure  _ he _ is going to be quite nosy. Just an intuition.” Arpi unbuckled herself from the car and got out, and Mikaela climbed out, too, to get into the driver’s seat. 

A man emerged from the bar wearing a tattered old apron. He locked the door behind him, and then he lifted his head to look across the parking lot, waving his hand in greeting. “Oh, Arpi, hey!”  _ Arpi? _ Mikaela’s gaze shot to Arpi, who didn’t look back at her but instead looked at the man. “I thought I recognized your bike. Figured you’d be back for it.” 

“Never leave home without it, Dale. Wouldn’t get very far.” Arpi headed across the lot and unchained her bicycle from the front stoop of the bar. “I just had a pickup.” 

“I see.” He offered his hand to Mikaela, giving a firm shake. “I remember you.” It donned on him as he spoke aloud.  _ You do?  _ she wanted to ask, but she held her tongue, though she had no recollection of this man. “I hope you don’t think I was groping you. You were falling off of your barstool, and if we have another lawsuit from somebody cracking their head open, the whole bar will go under.” 

“Hands to yourself!” Arpi called out to him. “I’ve still got Peppa Pig!” She waved another canister of pepper spray—apparently, she hadn’t learned her lesson, after all. 

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure. I’ll see you Thursday?” Arpi gave a salute and pedaled off down the sidewalk— _ I should offer her a ride _ , but instead, Mikaela watched her pedal away. “God, she cracks me up.” Dale fanned her off. “Anyway, glad you got home safe. See you around.”

“Uh—wait, wait a minute, um… What’s Thursday?”

He paused midstep. “Thursday is ladies’ night.”

“And… Arpi will be here on Thursday?”

“Well, sure, she’s here every Thursday. It’s quiet on ladies’ night, so there’s this gaggle of middle-aged lesbians who have a book club, political campaign, god-knows-what-else meeting in one of the corners. Come by on a Thursday night, and you’ll be in better company.” He waved a short farewell and walked away. 

“Huh,” Mikaela grunted to herself.  _ Thursday. _ Did she care enough to come by on a Thursday? All things considered, probably not… But the idea was enticing, anyhow. 


End file.
